1:1
by Exilo
Summary: He spent his life escaping Death's design. Every day is a struggle just to live. He's studied death, fought it, and is convinced he can win... Short fic, one shot. R&R please.


_1:1_

11:30. Half an hour more. That's all. Half an hour. Thirty minutes. Eighteen hundred seconds.

I will not die today. No. Not this day. Not this day. No. The Reaper will not have me. I'll lock my door and I'll wait for him. Or I'll run. Yes. Run. He can't claim me if he can't find me. Run away, far away. Someplace the Reaper would never find me.

But where? Where to go and how to get there?

Plane. Yes. Travel fast. Run away. Save myself. Hide.

_The odds of dying in a plane crash; 1:5,552._

Can't risk it. Too dangerous. Odds are too great.

But my car? Yes, my car. Drive away. Drive far. Never look back. I would like to see the Reaper on his pale horse keep pace with me. I could drive to the ends of the earth and he would never ever find me. Keep moving. Never let him find me.

_The odds of dying in a car crash; 1:34._

_Odds of dying as a pedestrian; 1:631_.

_Odds_ _of dying on a bus; 1:94,242._

I won't make it that easy. If he seeks me, he'll have to come and get me. Let him come. I'll fight him. I'll beat him.

My chest. Oh, my chest. Just some indigestion, nothing to worry about. Breathe deep old man. Nice and slow. Calm your heart old man. Don't make it easy for Him. Sit down. Catch your breath old man. Slow, slow, slow. Calm.

Ha! That's it. I'm fine. No harm. No damage done. I'm stronger in fact. What doesn't kill you. All that. You won't get me.

A knock!

Knock, knock, and knock.

Pounding on the wood, so forceful. It's him! No, he's come for me. He's found me. No. Be calm. Check who it is.

Knock, knock, and knock.

"Dad," he says. "Dad, open the door."

My son? Or perhaps the Reaper. Perhaps him in disguise. Perhaps my son is here to trick me.

"Dad, please, open the door."

Oh, he would love that. Let the Reaper in, let him right in. Oh you would love that, wouldn't you? A knife. I could fight him off.

_Odds of dying from assault by a sharp object; 1:1813._

"Dad, please, open the door."

The gun. I could get the gun. I've never even fired it. But I could get it.

_Odds of dying from firearms discharge; 1:5,808._

_Odds of dying from tripping, slipping or stumbling; 1:6455. Odds of dying from falling down a flight of stairs; 1:2301. Caught between two objects; 1:28,132. Fireworks discharge; 1:1,884,832._

My son would love that. He doesn't care about me. He wants my money. He's working with the Reaper. Yes. 'Open the door, Dad. Let the Pale Rider in.' He would just love that. He only wants my money. Pig. Monster. Demon. Dog.

_Odds of dying from the bite of a dog; 1:139,617._

"Dad, please."

Footsteps as he marches down the hall. Ha! Reaper, you will find me difficult prey.

But the air. How could I forget the air? It comes under my door, through the cracks, through the vents. Is it safe?

_The odds of inhaling toxins; 1:9,999. Food obstructing the respiratory tract; 1:4,293. Confinement in an oxygen-low area; 1:235,604._

My oxygen. Where is my oxygen? The bedroom. I slept with it. I would be damned if passed in my sleep. No. I'll see him coming. And I will fight him. And I will beat him.

My chest grows tight. My breathing short. I stumbled onto my bed and fumble for the mask. I turn the knob. I breathe deep. I live. The Reaper hasn't got me yet.

_Odds of dying from accidental suffocation in bed; 1:6,325. Exposure to electric current; 1:9,308. Changes in air pressure; 1:418,852._

11:45.

15 minutes!

15 minutes left of this cursed day. 15 minutes. The Reaper is running out of time. He'll be more desperate, cagier. Let him be. Let him try. I'm ready.

14 minutes.

Ouch. Something bit me? What was that? I need to know. Where is it? Where is it?

_Contact with venomous snakes and lizards; 1:628,277. Venomous spiders; 1:269,262. Hornets, wasp and bees; 1:72494. _

Yes, I was stung. A bee, his pointy ass embedded in my hand, trying desperately to pull the stinger out. That's the best you can do, Reaper? I'm not even allergic to bees! You're desperate now, Reaper. Desperate and pathetic. I've seen your true face.

13 minutes.

But there are risks.

_Odds of a foreign object entering the body through the skin; 1:117,802. _

Chance of infection, nerves can be damaged. My fingers grow stiff.

12 minutes.

My chest grows tight. Breathe deep old man. But the oxygen doesn't come. The tank is empty.

8 minutes.

No, I'm tired. Damn, why am I tired? I haven't slept. No, I couldn't.

_The odds of suffocating; 1:24,800. Odds of drowning on your own saliva; 1:16,904. Odds of you kidneys exploding; 1:356,422. Odds of winning the lottery; 1:135,145,920. Buy two tickets; 2:135,145,920._

5 minutes.

"Dad. Please, open the door. Dad!"

_Odds of being sat on by an elephant; 1:156,443,224. Odds of dying in orgasm; 1;305,325._

I can't breathe. My body is stiff.

3 minutes.

_Odds of dying of heart dieses; 1:5._

"Dad!"

_Odds of dying; 1:1._


End file.
